


A Question Of Consequence

by bitch_I_might_be



Series: Trust 'Verse [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex finally learns that pulling out is Not Reliable Actually, Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, Angst, Gen, George Washington is a Dad, He's the ultimate Supportive Dad, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Hurt/Comfort, Miscarriage, No graphic miscarriage!!, Talk of Intentional Miscarriage, This Man Just Loves His Son So Much, Trans Alexander Hamilton, Trans Male Character, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unwanted Pregnancy, Washington is tired and done, also Washington is once again pissed at John Laurens, and he constantly refers to his twenty-one year old as a child, because I missed writing that :), make up your mind Mr. Washington, meanwhile this man became a father at like twenty-three, mentions of periods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 10:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30036936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitch_I_might_be/pseuds/bitch_I_might_be
Summary: George just had a very hard time believing that the reason his son felt sick in the mornings was food-poisoning.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens (mentioned)
Series: Trust 'Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2209635
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41





	A Question Of Consequence

**Author's Note:**

> I accidentally made this into a series, oopsie :)  
> Well. I say that as if I have any plans for this except for maybe writing some more smut, lol.
> 
> Okay, so first off: Let's just pretend the facts about food-poisoning I used in here are correct. I know they aren't! And I'm sorry!!  
> Also, I for the life of me could not find out how people back then referred to periods, so I used 'bleedings'. Felt weird, tho :/
> 
> Concerning the tags, they briefly discuss intentionally induced miscarriage as a means to end an unwanted pregnancy, and it's basically said in text that that IS what will happen, but there's nothing on-screen :)

Today marked the sixth day in a row his son came into the office, early enough in the morning they had a good half hour to themselves before the rest of the boys came in, and complained to him about feeling sick. Not feverish-sick, no, sick to his stomach, and the boy was convinced he had eaten something off and given himself a mild form of food-poisoning.

George would like to believe that. He would really like to think Alexander _was_ suffering from a mild case of food-poisoning and would be back to normal in no time at all. Unfortunately, George knew a thing or two about that kind of ailment, and he _knew_ for a fact that it lasted very rarely longer than three to four days.

That morning, George’s suspension of disbelief reached its breaking-point when Alex came in, looking pale as a sheet, sat down, stayed perfectly motionless in his seat for a solid thirty seconds, then shot up and fled the tent only to fall to his knees outside and retch the meager contents of his stomach out onto the grass.

George couldn’t just pretend he didn’t see it after that.

He held himself back until nightfall, when everyone had left and they were once again on their own–Alex had been his usual, spirited self after the rough start into the day, and that only cemented his suspicion further. Food-poisoning didn’t disappear entirely only to reappear the next morning.

Alexander leaned on the edge of his desk, completely focused on the small stack of papers in his hands when George spoke up.

“Alexander, love, when was your last bleeding?” he said, eyes locked on the correspondence he was in the process of signing. 

A sharp intake of breath and the soft sound of the parchments Alex had been holding fluttering to the ground when they slipped from limp fingers made him look up.

His son was red in the face, eyes wide, fingers closing around now empty space. “I- why would you- what the fuck, Pa?”

“Watch your mouth, young man,” he cautioned, then softened a little. The poor boy looked tense enough to spring apart at any moment. “Just answer the question, Alex.”

“Why- why would you even ask that, that’s- it’s- I don’t want to _discuss it,_ Pa,” he pressed out, averted his eyes, and dropped down to the ground, scrambling to gather his papers back together with haste, as though he'd only now noticed he had dropped them.

“Humour me,” he said–no matter how much Alexander struggled and dodged, George couldn’t just let it slide. He needed a concrete answer.

Alex screwed his eyes shut, the only sound in the tent for a long moment the crinkling of parchment in his too tight grip.

“I- I don’t remember. Can we drop it?”

He didn’t remember. He _didn’t remember_?

George arched a brow, silent for only a second, in complete disbelief. “What do you mean, you don’t remember? Do you not keep track of it?”

Alex flushed even redder and picked at a tear in one of his papers, didn’t meet his eye. “Not really,” he mumbled, and George could have taken him by the shoulders and shook him.

“Not really,” he repeated, incredulous. “Alexander, son, light of my life, the uniform you wear every day includes white breeches.”

The boy shrunk into himself, trying his hardest to hide behind the documents in his hands. 

“It has worked out well enough,” he said, and George pinched the bridge of his nose; he could already feel the oncoming headache that would plague him for the rest of the night.

“All right. Fine. Just- try to remember where we were stationed the last time?” Alexander opened his mouth to protest, but George raised his hand to silence him. “I'm not asking to humiliate you, dearheart. Just _try,_ please.”

His boy clicked his mouth shut and blinked down at the pages in his hands, unseeing. “I- I think the last time was near Germantown?”

His stomach dropped, and he closed his eyes, resigned. God, he should have paid closer attention. What kind of father was he, to not notice when his son got close enough to someone for- for _this_? 

“Alex,” he sighed. “We left there almost two months ago.”

“Oh. Yeah, I- I guess.”

He heaved another sigh, pried his eyes back open, and watched his idiot boy for a moment. Twenty-one, chief aide of a General and Lieutenant Colonel in the Continental Army–and born a woman. Not that Alexander ever seemed to remember that fact.

“All right, who do I have to kill?”

Alexander raised his head and lowered the pages, his shields finally down, and blinked at him, the perfect picture of confusion. "What are you talking about?”

He stayed silent for another short moment. Then, “Alexander. Who did you sleep with?”

The boy stumbled back into the edge of his desk as though he had struck him, papers sliding from his grasp once more.

“What? No, what are you- I’ve never, with _anyone,_ you know I can’t, Pa-”

“Do you know,” he cut in, calm, even though his heart dropped farther down into his stomach with every beat. “What morning-sickness is a symptom of?”

“Umm, food-poisoning?” he tried, obviously aware that wasn’t the answer George was about to give him.

He shook his head, feeling suddenly too tired and way too old to have this conversation. “No, my love. It’s an early symptom of pregnancy.”

A beat passed, the air still and the tent silent.

Alex shook his head and chuckled without any humour; it sounded frantic–and like he knew exactly that it _could_ be a possibility, a possibility he didn't want to hear or even think about.

"No," he said. "Can't be. It can't- I'm not- I'm _not."_

"Who was it?" he asked again. That _was_ important information, after all; whoever it was knew about Alex's situation, and George would go to great and violent lengths to make sure the man kept it to himself.

Alex just shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself, turned away from him.

"Alexander," he said, but the boy still didn't face him. George rose from his chair and rounded his desk, stepped closer to his son–as close as he dared. He didn't want to spook him. "Alexander, you cannot pretend this isn't happening."

"It's not," he insisted with a small shake of his head. "It's not happening, Pa. It can't be happening, I'm not- not a girl, I can't-"

He clamped a hand over his mouth, face almost as pale as it had been that morning.

George paused for a moment, tempted, oh so tempted, to just pull him close and hold him, to reassure him everything was fine and if it wasn't, it would be. He forced himself to speak anyway, because it wasn’t fine, and he wouldn’t lie to his son.

"Was it Laurens?"

Alex flinched, and he knew he had hit his mark.

John Laurens. George probably should have been more suspicious when they began to exclusively bunk with each other, but then, he would never have thought _this_ would happen. Alexander was such a smart boy, and George had just assumed he would know better–but George should really stop assuming things. He had assumed his son was actually his daughter for a solid three years, after all.

George rubbed at his brow, exhausted and at his wit’s end. “I’ll shoot him,” he mumbled to himself, not because he was actually going to do that, no; he said it more because he had nothing else to say, the goddamn fucking idiot had gotten his son pregnant in the middle of a war, and he just needed to express how utterly unamused he was by the whole situation.

“Don’t hurt him, Papa,” Alex said, and when George raised his gaze, he was met with his boy’s teary eyes, finally directed at him. “It’s not his fault.”

Ah. So, we went from _there’s no way I’m pregnant_ to _don’t hurt the absolute brainless moron who got me pregnant._ An interesting leap in development, indeed.

“And how is it not his fault, Alexander? To put it frankly, he’s the one with the dick in this situation,” he said, gruffer than he meant to and with an edge of anger that was in no way directed at his son, not that he would be able to tell the difference.

Alexander flinched again, more severe that time, and sniffled. The fury budding in George’s stomach died as he watched his son hunch his shoulders and angle himself away from him, as he splayed a hand over his stomach, distracted, like he wasn’t aware he was doing it at all–and it hit George just how horribly he handled the situation when the first tears dripped from Alexander’s chin.

If he was correct–and there still was a slim, _slim_ chance he wasn’t, even with all the signs pointing to it–if Alexander really was with child-

What were they supposed to _do_? He wouldn’t be able to stay here, but he wouldn’t see reason, either, and let himself be sent back home, and- nevermind what the pregnancy would do to him, how it would destroy him mentally, what would they do when the baby was born?

Alexander couldn’t carry that kind of responsibility, he was just a child, and good Lord, George wouldn’t even be able to be with him, he couldn’t pause a war, and then there was Laurens, the idiot, and whatever _he_ would want to do-

A hitching sob broke from Alex’s throat and ripped George back into the present.

“I- I don’t understand, how- this shouldn’t have happened, he never-” he trailed off and turned back to George, eyes huge and red and pleading and so _confused_ it broke his heart, because that just told him the boy genuinely hadn't thought this could happen.

He cleared his throat and shoved those musings aside, stepped up to his son instead and wiped the now rapidly falling tears from his flushed cheeks.

“He never what, love?” he said, and Alex flushed even darker. 

George really hadn’t expected the day to include him asking his son about intimate details of his sex-life, and yet. Well, he thought in a desperate attempt to console himself a little, whatever Alex was about to say was important. If they hadn't done _that_ at all, there was no way they had a pregnancy at their hands–but no, Alex didn’t know much, but he knew enough. Just enough that if George had suggested pregnancy and Alex had been- well, a virgin, he would have shot him down ruthlessly.

“Um,” he said, eyes on the ground and resolutely nowhere near his face, his hands covering George’s where they lay on his cheeks, as though to prevent him from pulling away. “He never- I mean, he hasn’t- I-” He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his teeth into his lower lip so hard it appeared white, but before George could scold him for it, the words burst out of him in a single breath.

“Ma said the- the seed needed to go _in.”_

George blinked, dumbstruck.

Well. That… certainly shed some light on the situation. _That_ little misconception did a lot to explain how his brilliant son had managed to get himself into something this stupid.

He heaved a sigh and gently pulled Alexander closer, wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and kissed the top of his head.

“My sweet boy,” he mumbled into his hair, and Alex curled further into him. “I really wish you would have come to me before- well, it doesn’t matter now. That’s not- it’s not always necessary, love. Sometimes just… the act is enough.”

Alex stiffened in his arms and pressed his face more firmly to his collar. “I didn’t know that,” came the muffled and oh so small reply, and George let out a long breath and stroked the boy’s hair.

This was his fault. He’d known his wife had talked to Alex about these things to some extent when his bleedings had started, but that had been before- 

Before Alexandra had become Alexander. And George had _tried_ to talk to him, he had, but Alex had never wanted to listen, had dodged his attempts and told him to drop it, that it didn’t matter anyway because it wasn’t like he could go around and do that with just anyone; and the boy had been so uncomfortable, so fidgety every time George had tried, that he’d let him get away with it. He should have insisted.

It didn’t matter now. It was too late, the damage was done–there was just one little thing.

George wouldn't blame his son for this. His situation was so unique and his lack of knowledge not his fault, and… he would prefer not to think about it ever again, but the boy had _urges,_ just like everyone else.

But it needed two people to make a child.

“Laurens should have,” he said, low, with narrowed eyes, not that Alexander could see his expression of poorly concealed fury.

“No, it’s not his fault, Pa. John… he only likes men. He’s never- never had to worry about that,” he said, breath hitching with his tears, and now there _was_ a headache blooming just behind his forehead.

Perhaps that should have occurred to him. It was just their luck that probably the only two idiot boys in their entire camp who didn’t know about the finer details of conception had somehow managed to find each other.

So. He couldn’t blame it all on Laurens, either. 

George would still shoot him. Well, no, he wouldn’t, but he _would_ imagine doing so in great detail.

“Alexander, dearheart,” he said and took him by the shoulders, pried him away until he could see his tear-stained face, and forced a small smile to his lips. “I will send for Doctor Mann, and then… then, we’ll see. All right?”

Doctor Mann was their one and only medic who knew about Alexander–someone did have to treat him when he got hurt or fell sick, after all, but the man was discreet and professional; George wouldn’t have trusted anyone else with his boy.

Alex gave a hesitant nod and moved himself back to where he had been, flush against his chest. And if that didn’t break his heart a little. 

He was still so young; yes, he was intelligent, clever enough it was easy to forget just _how young,_ sometimes. He had insane work-ethics, and he could hold himself against higher-ranking officers twice his age with three times the experience in any debate, but he was still a boy at the end of the day.

And not just any boy–he was George’s. His sweet, brilliant boy who drafted most of his public statements for him and yet still needed his father to comfort him when something bad happened.

Alexander couldn’t raise a child. George wouldn’t let him.

* * *

“I’m so fucking stupid,” Alex said, muffled by his hands he had buried his face in, and his tears. George sighed and shifted closer, causing the cot they sat on to creak in complaint, laid a hand to Alex’s nape, and rubbed small circles into the base of his skull with his thumb.

“You’re not stupid, my love,” he said, and his son’s hands dropped away so that the boy could turn and fix him with a halfhearted glare that did absolutely nothing to intimidate him, but it did wake the profound desire in him to put a kiss to his forehead and boop him on the nose. 

“I am,” he insisted. “So stupid. So, so stupid.” He paused to sniffle and wipe the back of his hand over his cheeks, and George reached out to brush away the last of the tears clinging to his skin. “I should have known. And- and I didn’t even notice, _you_ noticed before I did, Pa!”

“Not knowing something doesn’t make you stupid, Alexander,” he said, calm and soft as was reserved for his family only, and moved his hand from the boy’s cheek up to his hair, smoothed it back.

Another sniffle. “I bet you knew about this kind of stuff when you were my age.”

George heaved a sigh and shrugged his shoulders. “I did, but I was in a situation very different from yours, dearheart.”

“Still,” he said and moved himself closer until their knees bumped against each other, nudged his arm in a way that had George correctly assume Alex wanted it around his shoulders. “This wouldn’t have happened to you.”

And George couldn’t help it–for a brief moment, the severity of their circumstances slipped his mind, and he chuckled.

“Alexander, dear, how old are you?”

The boy blinked at him, perplexed, but at least his tears had dried up. “Twenty-one,” he answered, ever dutiful.

“And how old am I?” he went on, and Alexander frowned at him like he wasn’t making any sense, unsure of where this was going.

“Forty-four.”

“So. How old was I when you were born?”

He stayed silent for a beat, then, “Oh.”

“Oh,” George repeated, bemused, and thanked the heavens for the small, wounded smile that curled his son’s lips. “And _I_ knew about all of that. Who’s stupid now, hm?”

And that even drew a hesitant chuckle from him. "You're not stupid, Papa."

“Then you aren’t, either,” he said and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead.

The wobbly smile lasted only for another second before it crumbled apart, and Alexander was back to looking like he struggled to choke back his tears; George held him a little tighter.

“I- I think what Doctor Mann said, that would be for the best,” he said, not quite meeting his eye, and a weight George hadn’t even noticed up to that moment lifted from his chest.

After the man had confirmed Alexander was, indeed, with child, he had taken a single look at the boy’s red-rimmed eyes and his devastated expression and declared he could provide a blend of herbs that could induce a natural miscarriage, if Alex was interested.

George could have hit himself for not thinking of that–it hadn’t even occurred to him that there were ways to disrupt a pregnancy. Maybe it was heartless of him to think that way, but he had immediately agreed, if not out loud. He had wanted to wait and see what Alex would want to do, but now that he had said it, he itched to call the doctor back to get it over with as soon as possible.

There were certain risks involved, after all, and they would only multiply the longer they waited.

“But, Pa,” Alexander said, and George blinked and focused back on his son. “It’s… it’s John’s, too. What if he wants it?”

George let out an undignified snort that he would deny later and grabbed Alex gently by the chin, lifted his head so he could look him in the eyes. “Then you tell him to go fuck himself,” he said, and Alexander stared back at him with wide eyes, speechless.

“It’s not that easy, I mean, I- I love him, and I can’t just-”

Oh great, he _loved_ him. Fantastic. Just wonderful. “If you don’t want to say it, _I_ would love to tell him to go fuck himself,” he cut in, and Alex regarded him with a doubtful look, caught somewhere between a frown and a tight smile.

George exhaled a long breath and slid his hand from his boy’s chin along his jaw, flattened his palm against the side of his neck. “Alexander. If he loves you, he will go along with whatever you want to do. It’s your choice and yours alone. I _will_ support you in your decision, no matter what it ends up being, even though I have to agree that- well, that ending this pregnancy now would be for the best.”

Alex swallowed and nodded his head, weak and hesitant at first, but the movement grew surer as a familiar air of determination settled over him.

“Yes,” he said and wrapped his fingers around George’s wrist, squeezed gently. “Yes, I- it’s my body, and I don’t want- I _can’t,_ and John… he’s amazing, and he loves me, he would never pressure me into anything, he will understand.”

The boy drew a distinct breath, and finally, _finally_ the broken expression left his eyes and took the tears with it. “I will talk to him tonight. Tomorrow… tomorrow, I want those herbs.”

That was more like it, he thought, a proud smile overtaking his features, and he tugged his son into a proper hug, planted a kiss on his hair.

“That’s my boy,” he said, and the smile that split his son’s face when he pulled away was just as bright as the one he had given him almost ten years ago now, the first time George had called him _Alexander._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](http://binch-i-might-be.tumblr.com)!


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